That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe (Abieville Love Stories #4)

Chapter 45

Chapter Forty-Five

Three

I finish brushing snow off the other half of the fallen log we’re using as a bench, and drop down beside Sara. In front of us, the lake stretches out like glass. The Hathaways’ house rises behind us, sprawling across the property. As Sara begins to put on her skates, my eyes trace her every movement.

Yep. Watching Sara. Like I told her. Not too shabby.

She slips her gloves off, laying them in her lap, then she shoves her foot into the first skate. When she swipes her hair back, the smell of cinnamon and cloves wafts between us, flooding my senses.

Annnd now I’m sniffing Sara. Which is awkward, but I can’t help it. In this moment, she’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever smelled, and I’ve worked at a candle shop and a bakery.

Anyway, she must sense me studying her—or maybe she heard me trying to inhale her scent, hoping it might live permanently in my lungs—because she glances sideways and her lip curves up. “Are you all right?”

“Never better.” I straighten my spine, acting smooth .

“Uh-oh.” She chews her lip. “You’re already bored, aren’t you?”

“No way.” I cut my eyes to her skates. “Just make sure you tie those tight. I want you to be safe, and you were a little wobbly last time.”

“That’s because I was walking on concrete floors. Not skating on ice.” She returns to her task, her fingers working the laces. Tightening, looping, tightening. Each new stretch tugs at my heartstrings.

If I’d had one birthday wish today, it would’ve been to freeze time so this week wouldn’t end. I love Christmas as much as the next guy, but I’d give up all future holidays to have Sara here with me. Forever.

When she leans over to deal with her other skate, her hair falls into a black drape over her shoulder, masking her profile again. So I go back to staring at her. Soaking up every detail. Possibly sniffing.

She’s leaving tomorrow, and yes, she says she’ll come back to Abieville on Christmas, but who knows? The doctor did clear me to be left alone. Assuming the house gets approved, she’ll have no actual reason to return. Once Sara’s in the city, with her parents in her ear, her dad officially offering her a job, she might decide it would be easier to stay.

And if that’s what she wants, I’ll have to accept it. All I care about is making her happy. And that’s exactly why I’m giving her my all today. From a log, sure. But still, this is Sara’s time. She’s the star.

This moment isn’t about fundraiser donations or bar exam results or some speech to praise the good works of Children’s Village. Those things are all important, yes.

But they pale in comparison to Sara.

My gut wrenches at the thought of losing her. Again. I can’t fathom another ten years—or longer—coming between us now. But I refuse to bring down the mood of this day for even a minute. So I shake it off, and press out a scoff. “You know, you’re actually lucky you’re skating alone out there.” I lift a brow.

“Oh, really?” Sara finishes with her laces and turns to me. Her cheeks have pinked up in the chill of the air and she begins to put back on her gloves. “Why is that?”

“I have a very particular set of skills.” I use my best Liam Neeson voice, and squint out at the ice, struggling not to laugh. Being around Sara makes me giddy. She’s always made me giddy, I just spent a decade trying to forget that.

“What kinds of skating skills are we talking about?” Sara puffs out a little snort. “Please. Enlighten me.”

“I’m so glad you asked.” I throw up a gloved hand to keep track of my suggestions. “Let me count the ways. Speed. Strength. Form. Endurance. Technical prowess.” When I raise my other hand as if to list another five other areas, Sara bats it away.

“I object.”

“On what grounds?”

She smirks. “I’d like to argue that form and technical prowess are the same.”

“Aha!” I chuckle, crossing my arms. “So you admit I’d still school you in at least four different skills.”

Sara laughs, then tugs her beanie farther down over her ears. “You know you’re awfully confident for a man who’s going to be watching me from the bench. And it’s not even a real bench. It’s a fallen log.”

With that, she pushes her body up and takes a few tentative steps forward. In front of her, the lake is mirror smooth. Dark glass in the fading daylight.

“Need any help?” I call out as she makes her way toward the ice.

“No, I’ve got this. Watch and learn, Liam Neeson. Watch. And. Learn.”

She eases out onto the lake, using shorter strides at first. Just warming up, taking things slow. I half expected her to start showing off after my Liam Neeson bit, but she’s being cautious, which is a relief. Sara’s always prioritized safety. Hers and everyone else’s.

Baiting her was reckless.

But brain fog’s making me dumb. And Sara looks so happy. Her movements appear effortless, arms arced out for balance as she glides across the ice. She lengthens her strides, sweeping out past the end of the dock. Her skates are eating up the lake as she turns right, disappearing beyond the alcove of trees.

“Where’d you go?” I yell the second as I lose sight of her. “Stay where I can see you!”

She reappears, farther out on the lake now, picking up speed, passing the dock again. But this time she heads left. “Can you see me now, Liam?” she calls out. “I’m pretty good, right?”

She spins around, skating backward, her legs and hips swaying. Her whole body moves in perfect fluidity. It’s a sight to see. A white swan floating on frozen water.

“Showboater!” I holler, my hand cupped around my mouth.

“Check this out!” She turns, facing me again, then skids to a stop in a spray of ice. “That’s my hockey move!”

“Very impressive.”

“Glad you finally noticed,” she says.

Oh, I definitely noticed .

She kicks off again, skating back toward me, chanting my particular set of skills at the top of her lungs: “Speed! Strength! Form! Endurance!” When she’s a bit closer to shore, she attempts another skidding stop and almost loses her balance, but she recovers, coming to a halt. She’s laughing now. Catching her breath. “What was that last one you claimed?” she asks. “Technical something?” She grins, her arms wide and graceful again, like a ballerina on ice.

“I think it was technical prow?—”

“Wait!” she calls out, cutting me off.

“Hey.” I toss her a smirk. “You’re the one who asked.”

“Three…” She looks down at her skates.

I tip my head. “What’s up? ”

“I hear a … a ….” Her next words, aimed at her feet, come out muffled.

“A what?” I’m still laughing under my breath. “I can’t hear you when you’re talking to your feet.”

She lifts her chin. Slowly. “The ice.” Her voice is a squeaky rasp. We’re both quiet for a beat, then I hear it too. A quick series of pops. Then a crackling. Her eyes go wide, and I hop up from the bench.

“Sara.” Her name pushes across my lips in a low, guttural growl. “Don’t move.”

“Do I look like I’m moving?” she says in a panic.

“I’m coming for you. Just stay still.” I glance around searching for a fallen branch or anything I can use as a potential lifeline. There’s that old tire swing hanging from the big snow-covered maple tree. But even if I could reach the swing, how would I cut through the rope?

I can’t. That’s the answer.

The ice around Sara crackles again, and she meets my gaze, eyes frantic. “What do I do?” she moans, like an animal caught in a trap. My heart’s thrashing in its cage.

We’re running out of time.

“Hold on!” I rip the string out from the hood of my sweatshirt. It’s decently long, but way too thin. There’s not enough substance for her cling to. Not with gloves on. Not with frozen hands.

Yanking off my gloves, then my boots, I quickly tie the shoelaces together. Then I knot one end of the hoodie string to the boot laces. The result doesn’t add much length, but at least the boots are a solid mass. Better than just a hoodie string to grip, at least. Now I can inch my way out onto the ice and toss the boots to Sara. I’ll wrap the hoodie string around my wrist and haul her back in with me.

Back to shore.

Back to safety.

My pulse races through my veins as I dash to the end of the dock and clamber down the ladder. Once I reach the ice, my actions have to shift. As desperate as I am to get to Sara, I force myself to move slowly. Steady and controlled.

I ease my body out onto the ice, then lower myself to my knees, continuing until I’m sprawled flat. With my weight dispersed as evenly as possible, I can inch forward toward Sara. She’s not too far from me now—thanks to the distance I covered on the dock. But terror hammers at my brain like we’re still separated by a galaxy.

“I’m scared, Three.” Sara whimpers, as if she’s reading my mind. Her confession might as well be a thousand knives stabbing my insides.

“I know, baby,” I murmur, creeping toward her on my belly. “But I’ve got you.” My chin is up, eyes pinned to hers with a determined stare. I’d trade places with her in a nanosecond, anything to protect her first at all costs. But there are no birthday candles out here to wish on. And if I’m too hasty now—and end up plunging through the ice too—we’re both doomed.

Don’t even think that. You have to save her, no matter what.

Another deep groan sounds from the ice, and the kaleidoscope of cracks between Sara and me spreads. Our eyes are still locked, and when her chin quivers, my entire chest cavity might as well be crushed by a vise.

“This is it,” she shrieks. “The ice is breaking!”

“No, you’re okay,” I assure her, even though I’m about as unsure as I’ve ever been in my life. “I’m coming for you, Sara. Almost there.”

“Stay where you are,” she chokes out. “Please.”

“Not an option,” I tell her, my jaw gripped in a grim clench.

“Don’t risk yourself too,” she begs. “Just crawl back to the dock, and call for help.”

“There isn’t enough time.”

“You’re right.” Sara lets out a tiny sob, and an angry rumble comes from the depths of me.

“I won’t abandon you. ”

Her whole body starts to tremble. This is taking too long. Wading through my blurry mind, I think about ways to help her. Things I should know.

You should’ve known not to let her skate on this ice in the first place.

“Now just listen to me, Sara. Focus on my voice and do what I say. I want you to lower yourself down into a squat,” I instruct. “As gently as you can manage.”

A squeak slips out of her. “I can’t do that.”

“You can. Sara, you are so strong. But you need to get your center of gravity low. Keep both your arms out in front of you. If the ice breaks, you’ve gotta grab the sides and hold on until I get to you. I promise I’ll get to you. Even if I have to go into the water myself.”

“No!” she screams. “Go back!”

“Can’t do that. You’re not alone. Do you hear me, Sara Hathaway? You are not alone. I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever.” I’m so close. Just one more foot, and my homemade life preserver will be long enough to reach her. As gingerly as I can, I lift my hoodie string, boots dangling from the end.

“I’m going to toss this to you now,” I tell her. “Catch the boot. Hold on tight. That’s all you have to do.”

“Okay,” she sobs, hands shaking, preparing for me to throw. As the spiderweb of cracks between us expands, I heave the boot.

“Three!” she screams. The glass beneath her splits into an open mouth, and she plummets into the icy water.